


A Date for dates

by Lakidaa



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, I'm putting this here so I don't have to fight Google Docs anymore, It's a funky AU, M/M, Shy hay-based makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakidaa/pseuds/Lakidaa
Summary: This is a tiny scene in an AU in which Master Assassins are a sort of supernatural creature; the ghoul. Altair chose to take that step, and Malik hasn't made any decisions yet. Altair breaks the quarantine newly-converted ghouls are held to, and seeks out Malik, who is essentially in that awkward time between passing your finals and actually graduating. They talk. A little.
Relationships: Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	A Date for dates

Ghouls were dangerous. Normally they were feral, mad things, stealing anything they could for themselves, leaving ruined corpses and ruined foodstores alike behind them. They always lived alone, unable to tolerate another's presence- apex predators incapable of sharing. Only holy words and gifts could drive them away, the rage or starvation sending them off into the sands where they often waited for travellers to prey upon. 

Everyone in the Holy Land knew this. They knew to ask strangers who did not accept gifts what would drive them away (ghouls could not help but answer truthfully). They knew better than to let a beautiful woman in the desert join them until the next oasis. They knew that when one was spotted, every problem could be traced to that single, lonely spirit.

They also know that if that ghoul was dressed in white robes, they still had to worry.

In Masyaf, in the fortress of the Assassins, they had long known the magic of making tigers into wolves. Against their myriad and subtle enemies, they had always had the terrible power of ghouls working in concert. Even though their secret foes had more numbers and perhaps more _everything_ (for not even the Assassins could know everything) the Order still commanded terrific fear and respect throughout the Holy Land- they had tamed demons to their will, made them back into men who could live and hide among society without revealing themselves.

And in Masyaf, at this moment, a particular ghoul was on the prowl. He was still handsome- his lips were whole and unchewed and his body was untouched by the malign alterations that being a ghoul could bring. He was in the white robes of a Master- as all ghouls wore, and he smiled as he slunk into the office where Rauf worked, unnoticed. It was closed at this time of day at the heat, and he could _smell_ the dates in the little dish where the combat trainer kept them hidden. There was no one there to catch him, and he was so _hungry..._

* * *

Altair perched on a window ledge with his stolen prize, eating the dates slowly, enjoying each last purloined fruit. They were his favorite. It was midday and the sun was great and shining as always, sending even the hardest trainer inside to rest- it was summer, and only a fool would drive novices in this weather. He had earned himself some respite from his own training (for he was only a newly minted Master) and planned to spend the whole day like this; relaxing, eating his fill on stolen snacks and the companionship of his fellow ghouls. 

Most of those fellows were resting. Many ghouls were nocturnal- not because they needed to be, but because it was easier to work and train at night, when there were fewer people around to distract or be distracted by them. It lent them an air of mystery among their brothers where it was rare; it was hard to be a terrifying agent of the Grandmaster’s will when they had known you since you were a little pigeon fresh in his grey robes. He still listened for them- they were off in their quarters a few towers over from him. He could see the window sash pulled across the wide, open windows, in contrast with the rest of Masyaf’s narrow slits. Anyone could see the window. But only Altair could hear the quiet shuffling of his brothers in their sleep- he smiled; it had to be murderously hot in there. He took a breath, and caught scent of the incense that was perpetually smouldering in there, a scented beacon that reminded him (and all of them) where home was, where safety was. It was one of the many tricks that they all used to keep in line; appealing to their animal natures. 

Altair didn’t care about any of that, and popped another date into his mouth as he looked over the fortress, listening and smelling and seeing what seemed like _everything_ \- including a familiar pair of figures far below him in the shade, going through disarming movements in slow motion, one showing the other the precise steps to remove a man from his sword. The older one was in simple white robes- not the ones of a Master, but one who was waiting for his initiation to the rank. The younger one, the one being trained by the elder, was in the grey equivalent; waiting to be a fully-fledged Assassin and not a Novice. 

They went back and forth a few times, the elder finding something new wrong each time in the younger’s stance or form; his words were mostly complaints or jibes. Altair smiled. He knew both of them, they were brothers and his best friends. Or, well, Malik was. Kadar was a friend, but he was too young to be _best_. Altair swallowed the last snack and slid off the window ledge, perching on the wooden bar that many windows this high up had. Down below was a haystack, closer to the A-Sayfs, and Altair was tired of avoiding people. Humans. Not-ghouls? It didn’t matter. Not like anyone was going to catch him talking to initiates, anyway. Not in this weather

The leap was easy. Altair had always been a natural at the acrobatics Assassins did. It just felt normal, to fling himself into the air, to let it pull him down into the safety of the hay. His arc was perfect, his landing was near-silent, and Altair could only just contain himself from the adrenaline rush. He’d always had problems with that. 

Kadar didn’t seem to notice him, but Altair could see the minute pause in Malik’s motions, that tiny change in his expression. He would have been more surprised if it wasn’t _Malik_ \- he was the only Assassin that Altair could consider as good as he was (well, before he’d taken that last step). Otherwise, the older brother didn’t betray Altair’s position, finishing the disarm manoeuvre before telling Kadar to take a break- “It’s too hot for any more work. You should be sitting with the other Novices anyway. Go. I’ll meet up with you in the evening, at dinner.” 

Kadar, to his credit, bit down the question of where Malik was going, and merely gave him the respectful bow an instructor was accorded before gratefully scurrying off to the barracks where his fellows were resting. Questions could wait until dinner. Water and shade couldn’t.

Malik took his time. He checked the sword they had been using for any kind of damages (Nevermind that there was no way there _could_ be damages; Malik was always over-careful with swords) and replacing it in the scabbard and walking, _walking so far_ to put it away before returning to the haystack where Altair still laid, almost asleep from the warm of the day and the hay all around him. He started when Malik prodded the stack with a toe, trying to find a place in it that was not full of ghoulish Assassin. 

“I swear, if you don’t move over, I am going to just lay on top of you, and we both know you’re not supposed to be here so you’ll have to take it.” Malik was reassuringly grumpy, and Altair moved over without a sound. 

A quiet _paff_ of Assassin against hay, and a sigh from Malik as he settled into the stack. They were an Assassin’s best friend, honestly. Ubiquitous and safe; hiding in stacks was one of the first things Assassins were taught as little children, too young to yet even be Novices. 

Altair moved his foot from underneath Malik’s leg. “You’re going to teach him your bad habits, you know.” 

Malik snorted. “Which are far less in number than your own. You’re not near as good as I am.” They both allow Malik the boast because it was _true_. Altair had never been able to reliably beat Malik in a straight sword fight. It was only when Altair was allowed his short blade that they became properly equal. Not that it mattered now that Altair could simply move faster than the brain could properly register. But, if Malik followed Altair (like he’d always done), then? Maybe? 

They laid together in silence for a while. Altair took in his best friend with his new senses, hearing his heartbeat (fast still from practice, healthy, regular) and his breaths (slower than his heart, good, smoked sometimes), felt the heat radiate from his body and breathed in his natural scent (similar to Kadar, of course, but different enough that he could tell them apart with just his nose). He hadn’t realized how completely fascinating and _overwhelming_ this was- Altair suddenly felt for all the hounds he’d ever met. It was harder than he thought it’d be to not adjust himself so he could _sniff_ his fellow Assassin; the thought of how _undignified_ it would be was the thing keeping him still. He just laid there and breathed in deep, letting his eyes drift shut; they didn’t do him any good in the hay, anyway. 

Malik was simply glad the rumors were false and Altair was not a cold corpse made to walk. The weight beside him was warm and faintly smelling of some incense he could not quite recognize, but it was still Altair. 

“Was it worth it?” Malik isn’t sure where the question comes from. He knows he isn’t supposed to ask, but Altair isn’t supposed to be here so it evens out. 

It takes Altair a moment to realize what he’s asking (and to get back in his head and out of his senses) to answer, picking his words carefully. “It was for me.” He wanted to be the best Assassin, and that necessitated what he’d done. It was simple for him. 

Things were never so simple for other people. “For you.” Malik moved, brushing some piece of straw out of his face’s way. 

“Maybe not for you,” Altair admitted. He didn’t know what to think about that possibility. Malik wasn’t aiming to be the _best_ , not like Altair was. Malik probably had plans for other stuff that he’d never told the ghoul about. He did that. 

A few more moments, and then Malik rolled over, holding his arm up over them to tent the hay. He wanted to see Altair’s face- he wasn’t supposed to, but Altair wasn’t supposed to influence his decisions so they were even. He wasn’t sure what to expect- he’d always been told that ghouls were ugly creatures when not wearing their illusions- without lips or with fangs, with terrible eyes or horns or weird colors not meant for man to wear.

When he sees that familiar face looking back at him, confused and blinking, Malik is somehow unsurprised that Altair looks the same. Or... maybe not. His eyes. He had the eyes. They’d always been unusual- such a pale brown to be called amber, but now? Now they were _gold_ , shining even in the shade the hay provided. Like an eagle. Malik made a face- of _course_ he’d be all eagle-like. Altair _would_. 

Altair, for his part, was too busy trying to hide his face- he wasn’t _supposed_ to be out like this, especially not without a face-covering, _especially_ not with an Assassin about to be given the same choice he had. But... it was _Malik_. He was responsible. Just seeing him couldn’t influence him too much, right? They’d both grown up with the ghouls perching on the myriad spires and crenellations of the fortress, with them spiriting snacks out of homes and doing cryptic things that no one really understood. All Assassins had seen at least a few ghouls ghosting into and out of Masyaf- in their white uniforms, with their masks or veils or whatever they’d chosen to cover their faces, as the Grandmaster required of them. Surely seeing one’s face unmasked was no big deal? 

He smiled sheepishly- his teeth were mismatched. Some were a predator’s, and some were his own; Malik suspected he’d had some punched out because they were all next to each other. He found himself reaching out to the ghoul’s face, curious to see him more closely. 

Altair’s hand was on his wrist faster than he could properly see, keeping Malik from touching him. That was too far, he guessed. Altair’s eyes were betraying him- he was nervous, worried. _Excited_. 

“You’re so easy to read. You really think you’re going to change my decision?” Malik had his other hand out then, fingertips on Altair’s cheek before the ghoul could spit out an answer. The touch seemed to have some electric effect on him, made his whole body rustle in the hay. “I’m not going to tell anyone, anyway. I’d be in just as much trouble.” He leaned forward with each word, coming closer, that cruel part of him enjoying how Altair became more and more nervous and stiff and overwhelmed as he did. 

Altair finally spoke. His mouth was so dry. “Ass.” 

Malik just smiled, in that particular way that had _always_ made Altair shiver. He’d always had that streak of- it wasn’t meanness or cruelty, but still something commanding and powerful, even now- and it pinned him there as they finally touched- lips and then teeth and tongues as well. Altair submitted to Malik’s exploration of his mouth, completely in thrall to the sensations of taste and smell. He was a creature of the senses, and this was too much for him to fight. 

Malik found a part of himself treating it all very clinically- Altair’s mouth was warm, and still tasted like he had before he’d taken the offer of Master (like he’d just eaten dates- the man was a fiend for the fruit), but now those teeth were so very sharp on one side. His tongue felt odd- rougher? The rest of him begged to enjoy the interaction with his ...friend. He didn’t know what, exactly Altair was to him, but it was much more than friendly. They’d done this before- before Altair had taken the offer, before they had both been simply journeymen, even, hiding in haystacks and exploring each other. It was natural for them- to explore and know, to learn and take advantage. 

It didn’t last long, in a chronological sense, but to Altair, it seemed to take forever. It dominated his senses. It _did_ something to him, deep in his skull- he realized that the rule to keep away from humans was there for a reason. He smelled too good, tasted too wonderfully alive and fresh to be close to. Right now, anyway. Altair broke the kiss, pulling away with a jerk and a gasp, leaving Malik hanging. His eyes were wide and dilated, almost glassy. Malik found concern welling up in him- this wasn’t normal for a kiss. Yeah, Altair got excited, but this? 

“I have to go,” the ghoul said. His voice was wavering, strained. His whole being was tensed. Malik didn’t know exactly what Altair was feeling, only that it wasn’t pleasant. 

Malik merely nodded, dumbfounded. This was a little alarming. He patted Altair on the arm as encouragement, and was rewarded with a lopsided smile. 

“Thanks. I’m sorry. I’ll...” Altair started to pull away in the haystack. “I’ll talk to you when I’m allowed. Later. Okay? Soon.” Another smile, and he was gone. 

A ghoul wasn’t allowed to influence an initiate’s choice, and Malik had promised Altair he wouldn’t, but seeing that look on his face, that alarm from a kiss? It only cemented his decision. He rolled over in the hay, pulled his knees to his chest, and remembered a time before all this.

**Author's Note:**

> ty google docs for being difficult to share with other people and making me post this to AO3. baby's first posted fic. I wrote this ages ago and I still like it, so I give it to the internet. I hope you like it too, and ask me about ghouls.
> 
> I also originally wrote this on a way skinnier screen and I hope the formatting works out.
> 
> I hope I put this in the right spot AO3 is intimidating.


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